


Heroes Have Bad Records

by mehs



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Ending, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 19:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehs/pseuds/mehs
Summary: Benjamin gets to meet the man himself.





	Heroes Have Bad Records

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine it's Keegan Michael-Keys beautiful rendition. Enjoy!

I- I couldn’t believe it. When Sully told me that he would meet me in the basement of the ONI headquarters, I knew that was it. I was going to a modern version of a gulag and that I would pay for my pressing questions. Down here, the walls are even higher, the floors even brighter and you can’t really tell where you came and where you were going.

Was I going to see Petra down here? Did I lead her to this fate too? Maybe I was overreacting or maybe I was just reacting. There was no use in hiding how I feel, the nervousness or the feeling that my mouth is both too try and or too wet at the same time; ONI was monitoring everything about me.

When I do meet up with Sully, he was whistling a cheery tune. Something I’ve noticed during my time with him was that he was never really cheerful or annoyed; Sully existed in a perpetual state of insincerity about his emotions.

“Sorry for all the secrecy, Ben.”

“I-it’s not a problem.” I waited a beat, wondering if I should just plead for my life, let the truth go and do what they want. Please, don’t make me disappear, “Listen, Sully, I - ”

“He was hard to track down, let alone agree to come in.”

In another situation, the smile he flashed me would have been comforting? Excited? Instead it was terrifying, like it was a shark playing with its food.

He walked me into an empty room, and from what I could tell there was only a one way mirror - very 21st century.

They’re going to work me over like they used to do. There were reports of, of, of, torture techniques where they would pour water on you until you couldn’t breathe, or that they would snap your bones one by one.

Not that they don’t do that already.

There were exactly two metal chairs and a small metal table. At least they made the effort to look like this was a conversation?

Panic set in, there was one door in and one door out. One window looking in and there was no signal to my holopad. I mean, it was like I was in a place that nothing was meant to escape.

They didn’t want me to escape.

“Hello? H-hello? Sully?” I called out, maybe if I begged that would work? “Hello, listen, Sully - I get, I get it, I messed up you don’t have to do this you - ”

The door opened and a very tall man with wide shoulders stepped through. He was wearing drab, UNSC standard issue clothes with a giant logo splayed across the front. I assume, he was one of the agents that were going to break me. I swallowed hard before I realized what I was looking at - a - at - a Spartan? A Spartan was going to break me.

At least ONI has a sense of irony?

“Listen- you don’t have to do this.” I started, “I - ”

His eyes were unsettling- a deep shade of blue, framed by thick brown eyelashes. If you squinted, maybe you could see hints of freckles across his nose and across his cheeks. High cheekbone, and a dark brow.

“I’ll let Commander Sully know, then.” he replied as he sat down. For a moment, I wondered when it was all going to start, but he just sat across from me, just as uncomfortable as I was. I had heard that spartans made little to no movements, but this was … unnerving. His shoulders twitched, he didn’t make eye contact with me, but rather looked past my face at a spot on the wall.

“S-so, who are you?” I asked, wondering if he was just as nervous as I was.

He blinked, staring at the spot behind my head for a fraction past it being comfortable and replied.

“Master Ch-.”

… I couldn’t believe it. I actually couldn’t believe it. I had gotten out of my chair in one flourished movement, my hands rubbing the back of my head and making their way to cup my face.

John? This was John? John, who didn’t introduce himself as john.

“You’re John.” I said for him, and it was like he had to restrain the frown on his face.

“I mean, you’re the Master Chief.” I corrected, pacing around the room trying to piece it together. That’s why I was in a hidden underground room, so no one would see John. I can’t corroborate my notes with John. I had to do this all from memory. Just the fact that I was looking at him, that I mentioned his name  _to him_ was - wow. 

“That’s correct.” he replied, wondering when this would be all over, I could see it on his face. “You are here to ask me a few questions.”

He was reminding me - oh wow, he was so different. I don't know what I expected, you know? Did I expect him to be wearing all of his medals, did I imagine him to swoop down and save me from this place? I don't know. I had so many questions to ask him. Was it true? Were you a child when they took you?  

Did I want to be wrong? Did I want him to tell me straight to my face: _Yes Ben you're being crazy. Why would the UNSC kidnap a bunch of kids and make them weapons of war. By the way, thanks for catching my good side in that picture, I have it framed on the inside of my bunk and I look at it often. You're my favorite journalist and you're definitely better than Petra._

Yes. I did. 

“I took a picture of you, you know.” why was I saying that? That was absolutely creepy to tell the master chief. Hi, I’m ben and I am wondering if you’re really a kidnapped young man that was brainwashed to save us all. Please give us your take on this moral conundrum?

He said nothing, but the short glance to the chair was more than enough for me to squirrel back there.

“Right, uh, let me just turn on my holopad and - ”

“I do not mean to be rude, Mr. Giraud, but my team is waiting for me.”

He was being polite. I was being an inconvenience - I was the person standing between him and saving some young girl from some rebels.

“Blue Team, that was nice of them to let you come down for an interview."

The silence was loud as he looked at me, lost as to what he wanted me to hear.  I got straight to it, maybe small talk wasn't going to be the best to get me through. 

"Straight to the point, I like that. Right, uh - so: when did you decide to join the military?”

"There was an incident when I was young.” he replied deliberately, looking beyond my face as he said  “It's when I knew that I had purpose.”

It seemed … disappointing that he didn’t contradict the story that I was given about that incident when he was kidnapped. Or did he? He didn't say it exactly as the files, but the rapping on the window made him glance to the side. Was he trying to tell the truth? Was he telling a half lie? 

“How long ago was that?” I replied, trying to gauge if he would give me some hint or if there would be something that would pull this altogether. Like he’d be my hero.

“As soon as I possibly could, sir.” he sat very straight, and his hands were never on the table. Could you be at attention sitting down?

“So, tell me about your childhood. How does one go from being a kid on Eridanus II to being the savior of humanity?”

“I am not the savior of humanity.” he replied, like it was a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t like that question at all, and I could feel that I stepped over a line. “I did not do it alone. Many good men and women died to make sure that we’re still here.”

A beat:

“You should not be doing this story about me.”

He was so humble, so down to earth - if I had done what he had done, you would see me walking around with medals all the time. Free flights, free food, free lodging- yet, here we were in a basement of the ONI building with him wearing a sweatshirt.

I never really noticed how many scars were on his face. One across his lip, giving him a permanent semi-frown. Another across his cheek, across his nose. I never looked at the man until now; stoic, but tired.  He was unsettlingly handsome (maybe it was my own biases getting in the way), like a weathered coast during a storm; tired and worn out but a welcome presence. Safety. 

“I don’t get to choose my assignments,” I tried to joke, to release some of the tension in the air, “Why stay at the UNC? Why not retire? You definitely earned it.”

His answer was immediate, sincere, and matter-of-fact, “There are a lot of people that need our help. We help people.”

That was ONI's propaganda line right there, the selling point of the entire story. Warrior that could retire in glory, but no, he chooses to help people. 

“When did you decide to become a Spartan?”

That was an odd question, because I knew it was dancing around the issue and the rumor. He knew it, and he knew that I was trying to get at something. ONI just doesn’t pull the Master Chief for any reason.

“I knew it the moment I joined. Being a Spartan gives you purpose.”

Purpose. Purpose. It keeps being brought up. It matches up with the talk that he was a protector as a child, a kid that needed focus and the UNSC gave it to him. 

We talked a little bit more. I asked him about Mombasa, I showed him the picture of him kneeling with pride and he said that I got his good side (it happened! it happened!!). For someone that didn’t really talk, I found his company …. Enjoyable. Maybe ten minutes passed before I realized that my time was running short.

“Any words of wisdom for young people wanting to follow in your footsteps?”

He thought about it for a moment: “I am just like any other soldier. Duty, honor, self-sacrifice; that is what being a soldier is.”

He meant every word that he said, it made me actually believe that maybe Ellie was getting her information wrong. It did strike me strange that he didn’t say “UNSC” specifically, but I could be reading into this too deeply. All of it too deeply; maybe there was another John that died, another John who used to go to her school and I just gave this poor woman some semblance of hope that her friend didn’t really die.

“I guess your boxing coach was right,” I laughed, “you do move with purpose.”

If I hadn’t been that focused on surviving I would have missed it, the small shift in his lower lip, or the small twitch of his brow. It was an opening:

“Your friend Annie was really helpful, I think I have enough.”

I think I hard him swallow slightly, or (when I replay this I would hear the sound of a thumb rubbing against a palm).

“Okay, Mr. Giraud.”

“Oh, one more thing, I forgot her last name in my notes. Since you two were friends - ”

He was getting up, and the door was opening to let him leave. He turned to face me, perfectly aware of what I was doing.

“I fall on my head a lot. It makes for bad records.”


End file.
